Dueling the Past
by WikedFae
Summary: Vignette. Snape’s POV during Dueling Club, Year 2. What kinds of torment are hidden in emerald eyes?


**Dueling the Past**

Summary: Vignette, Snape's POV during Dueling Club, Year 2. What kinds of torment are hidden in emerald eyes?

* * *

What a blasted idiotic idea it was for Lockhart to suggest the training of underage wizards in dueling! Although, I must admit it was a significant pleasure to torment those imbecilic second years. At least, it was, until Draco's snake. A perfect spell, conjuring the black asp from nowhere; a streak of redemption as I saw fear etched over Potter's young face and immediate revulsion and self-loathing as the terror reached his eyes.

His eyes, so much like _hers_, shone with fear and uncertainty. Such a hollow emotion stole around my heart, clutching it with spindles of ice. His father had never revealed such feelings—if indeed, he'd ever felt them. But neither had his mother ever expressed such open vulnerability. This fear was something which had passed behind my eyes so often in childhood, reflecting in the cracked mirror of the dingy bedroom I cringed in, as sounds of slamming doors and breaking glass wafted up the stairs carried upwards with the stench of alcohol. If he knew this fear, what events had transpired to make him so easily succumb to apprehension? Which experiences could he have suffered to contort his face into such a grimace of panic?

Within seconds, though, his features smoothed and his lips parted. The thought that immediately came to mind was he had frozen and was on the verge of fainting. I stepped forward, condescendingly offering to remove this "menace" but stopped short as I realized he was not listening. I do not remember being outraged, for every fiber of my being arrested and a scream almost launched itself from my soul, struggling to wrench free as his hiss reached my ears. _Parseltongue_.

My meager existence came crashing down once more. Had this never occurred before, I am sure my Occlumency shields would not have spared me. As it was, there had been five previous events when all footing had been ripped out from beneath me. The first had occurred in the summer of my fifth year. She'd left for good after one slip of the tongue. The second, the end of my sixth year when my mother had hung herself. The third, their wedding day. The fourth, when the Dark Lord had made quick business of the Potters. The last had been scarcely a year ago. The Sorting Ceremony when I'd first laid eyes on him. He'd been glancing up at the staff table asking the Weasley prefect something. The lines of sight crossed, locking for a mere moment. My training served me well for I have never experienced such hatred, jealousy, anger, remorse, and…adoration. Not for the boy, naturally; but for _her_ eyes which I realized would be haunting these halls for the next seven years while ever so delicately implanted in grotesque perfection within _his_ visage and profile. As the hissing and rasping bombarded my ears, a third persona reared its head. In one moment this boy had become the triad: my love, my tormentor, and now my murderer. The moment her breath had left her lips was the moment _he_ had ruined my soul, stomping on the last tinder of flame and creating a servant bent and contorted over an anvil of revenge.

They were both blacksmiths of manipulation, _he_ and Albus. Constantly molding, shaping, heating, and sharpening their blades of prospective victory. Both masters had lied and deceived to achieve necessary lethality from me…and then I understood. The boy also reflected me; playing into Albus' welcoming arms, finding a purpose within these turbulent times and ready to become the perfect weapon, never to have his own life dictated by his own terms.

And with the aftertaste of pity flooding my mouth, the moment had passed, the hissing ceased and he looked around frantically, obviously not comprehending the remarkable feat he had just achieved. Vanishing the asp, I threw the most shrewd and calculating look at him as I contemplated how he'd proven he was a triad, then dyad, and once again a triad. However, by replacing my murderer, I'd seen within him experiential marks so closely mimicking my own internal scars, with more promising to appear in his future. And now I do not know which vexed me more: the fact I was now closer to an offspring of _Potter's_ than I'd ever intended to be, or the fact I could have prevented it.

_Fin_


End file.
